Stupid as a in an awakened from sleep, I thought for a moment that I had dreamed both the cry and the pain; and groaned in my misery. The next moment I felt the hay that lay on me move; then the truss that pressed most heavily on me was lifted, and I heard voices and cries, and saw a faint light, and knew I was freed. In a twinkling I felt myself seized and drawn out, amid a murmur of cries and exclamations. The cloak was plucked from my head, and, dazzled and half blind, I found half a dozen faces gaping and staring at me.
"Why, mon Dieu! it is the gentleman who departed this morning!" cried a woman. And she threw up her hands in astonishment.
I looked at her. She was the woman of the house.
My throat was dry and parched, my lips were swollen; but at the second attempt I managed to tell her to untie me.
She complied, amid fresh exclamations of surprise and astonishment; then, as I was so stiff and benumbed as to be powerless, they lifted me to the door of the stable, where one set a stool, and another brought a cup of water. This and the cold air restored me, and in a minute or two I was able to stand. Meanwhile they pressed me with questions; but I was giddy and confused, and could not for a few minutes collect myself. By-and-by, however, a person who came up with an air of importance, and pushed aside the crowd of clowns and stable-helpers that surrounded me, helped me to find my voice.
"What is it?" he said. "What is it, Monsieur? What brought you in the stable?"
The woman who kept the inn answered for me that she did not know; that one of the men going to get hay had struck his fork into my leg, and so found me.
"But who is he?" the new-comer asked imperatively. He was a tall, thin man, with a sour face and small, suspicious eyes.
"I am the Vicomte de Saux," I answered.
"Eh!" he said, prolonging the syllable. "And how came you, M. le Vicomte--if that be your name--in the stable?"